Caine's Reckoning. Sarah McCarty
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and the more trigger-happy fingers were twitching.
“If you take her like this, she’ll still be James’s ward, and still his by law.”
Caine kneed Chaser in a half circle, drawing his revolver. “Any who want to dispute my claim know where to find me.”
“I’m not going with you.”
He wasn’t surprised when Desi’s protest was the only one spoken. There were times when a deadly reputation came in right handy.
“Ten months ago when I saved your life, Caine Allen,” Father Gerard continued in his calm way, “you told me I could ask a favor anytime, and it would be granted.”
“I did.” Caine had an idea where this was heading. The priest’s next words confirmed his suspicions.
“A husband’s rights supersede all others.”
Caine took aim at a young wrangler on the left edge of the crowd. “Don’t do it, son.”
He cut Father Gerard a quick glance. “You don’t call in markers on something like this.”
The priest shrugged, coming closer, letting go of Desi’s hand when she planted her feet. “You’ll have to forgive me. This is my first time.”
If it was the priest’s first time, he’d eat his boot. The cowboy holstered his revolver and held up his hands. Caine backed Chaser up two steps. “I thought it was a sin for priests to lie.”
“And I thought Rangers always kept their promises.”
They did—he did—but as much as he admired Desi’s courage, he wasn’t about to marry her. Although the thought wasn’t as distasteful as it should have been. “Marriage is a forever thing, Padre.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not a forever kind of man.”
“Then perhaps it’s time you changed.”
“Might be too late in the day for that miracle.”
“Are you going back on your promise?”
This time Caine cut a glance at Desi. She was staring at the smiling gambler with resigned horror, sure Caine would go back on his word to the priest and to her. Jesus, he wanted to walk Chaser over there and kick those damn shiny teeth down the gambling bastard’s throat just for looking at her. “No.”
“Without my approval this marriage can’t take place,” the gambler piped up, clearly looking to shorten his life.
A shotgun cocked on Caine’s right. “Then give it.” Sam’s was short and to the point.
He didn’t give his approval, but he shut up, which was all the same to Caine.
Caine clucked his tongue, guiding Chaser to where Desi stood. He holstered the rifle and motioned for her to hold up her hands. He pulled his knife from his boot top and cut through her bonds. “A woman shouldn’t get married with her hands tied.”
“I don’t want to marry.”
Neither did he, but neither of them had much of a choice. Forced by circumstance and honor, there was only one path for both of them. “Would you rather stay here?”
“No.”
“Then we get hitched.”
He waited for the priest to reach them. His robes flapped around his legs in the breeze. He should have looked ridiculous, womanly in the garb, but he didn’t. He looked what he was. A man at peace with his life and the choices he’d made. Caine envied him. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt calm.
Since the day the Mexican army had slaughtered their entire town, shouting “death” as they’d murdered men, women and children alike, he’d been consumed with a rage for justice that wouldn’t let him rest. The same rage flowed over him now as the men he’d mentally marked gathered together, voices rising and falling in an angry cadence, occasionally punctuating their frustration with sharp gestures. His finger ached on the trigger of his revolver. It’d be so easy to take them out. To save everyone the expense of a trial for what they’d done to Desi. So very easy to make them suffer.
“Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.”
Caine didn’t take his eyes off the men, controlling Chaser’s impatient prance with a light touch on the reins. “This time, Padre, the good Lord is going to have to get in line.”
4
Desi huddled deeper into the warmth of her borrowed coat. She pulled the collar up against her cheeks and watched as Caine hunkered down beside the saddlebags and fished something out of the depths. Firelight flicked shadows over his big form, elongating his silhouette into the deeper gloom between the rocks. Making him more than he was, but more distant, too…
“You hungry?”
The question was tossed over his shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
He paused. The glance he cast her was knowing. “I seriously doubt that.”
The shame of that burned to her soul. There weren’t words strong enough to cut him down. She lifted her chin and pulled the cold around her, letting it seep into the well that wedged permanently in her soul. “Nevertheless, it’s true.”
He took his big knife out of its sheath. The rasp of metal on leather was loud. He opened the packet on the ground. Firelight caught in the blade and reflected back as he brought it down. He took the food and held it out to her. “It’s not too tasty, but it will fill the hole in your gut.”
She looked at the handful of dried meat, then back up at him. It was going to take a lot more than jerky to fill the hole in her. She let go of the edge of the coat, watching his hands as she reached for the meal. Watching for any sign of meanness. She was hungry, but not hungry enough to be stupid. She stopped halfway there. Caught between hunger and wariness.
Around them there was only darkness. Just she and Caine trapped in this intimate insubstantial circle of light. Tracker and Sam had gone back to town to get her things. She’d told them it wasn’t necessary, but they’d insisted on some notion that a woman needed her things about her. Maybe a woman did, but her things had been stripped from her long ago, and all she had now was her pride, determination and…her husband. Caine’s fingers twitched and she jerked her hand back.
She took a breath, eyes locked on his hand. Beyond that twitch of his fingers, he didn’t move.
“You’d do better to watch my eyes.”
The low, drawled comment was as startling as the twitch of those fingers.
She clutched at the neck of the coat again, watching his hand, her heart beating too fast to breathe right. “What?”
“If you want a heads-up when I’m about to turn ornery, you’d do better to watch my eyes.”
She had to look then. Caine was watching, no expression on his face, no discernible indication of what he was thinking. Just watching her as if she were some sort of puzzle he intended to figure out. She hated the way that made her feel. Helpless, stupid, easy prey. She snatched the food from his hand, almost whimpering with the stress as her fingers touched his, expecting him to grab her wrist as she grabbed the food. He didn’t move, and his hand stayed where it was even after she had tucked her hand back into the shelter of her body. She forced a normal tone. “What good would it do me to watch your eyes when it’s your hand I’m worried about?”
“It’d give you that split-second warning that could make the difference between life and death.” He waved to the food in her hand with the knife before going back to the chunk and cutting off another piece. “Eat.”
Her throat was so dry she didn’t think she could work up the spit to swallow, so she just sat there, huddled